


Pink Fluffy Jumpers

by bloodscout, SherlockHolmes



Series: Apollo and Ares [2]
Category: Being Human (UK), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodscout/pseuds/bloodscout, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockHolmes/pseuds/SherlockHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You'd think you'd become desensitised to crimes against fashion when you lived with George Sands and Jean Prouvaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink Fluffy Jumpers

They were as bad as each other.

George’s friend, Jehan, was sitting on the table in their kitchen, sipping on a cup of tea, resting a legal pad on a garishly lime green-clad knee, a purple glitter pen clutched between his teeth. Half of his hair was in an intricate and complicated braid around his forehead, and the rest spilled over his shoulders onto a positively hideous pink woolen jumper. 

“I can’t believe you’re actually seriously going to go out wearing that,” Annie said, despite the fact that the man couldn’t hear her. “It looks like something you stole from your grandmother.”

Jehan looked up and grinned as George swung into the kitchen, wearing the most incredible orange paisley shirt.

“Where do you guys even get this stuff?” Annie asked, incredulous.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” George asked Annie.

“Not at all.” Jehan glanced over to the corner where Annie sat - invisible to him - as always looking a bit confused. Still, he’d gotten used to his friend’s habit of asking his question to strange places, so he smiled, unperturbed. He waved the horrid pen in George’s general direction. “It’s fabulous. You look stunning.”

George straightened up with his distinctive awkward swagger. He tried not to sound too bashful.

“Thank you, Jehan. You look amazing, too,” he said, shooting Annie a meaningful glare as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re colour blind, the both of you,” Annie snarked back.

“Just because you have to spend the rest of eternity in gray, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.”

The shelf behind Annie crashed down, all the mugs smashing as the lights began to flicker. George felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise as energy crackled from the ghost girl. Jehan yelped, jumping off his chair. The poet threw his arms towards the shelf, as if trying to catch the kitschy knick-knacks that had already shattered on the unforgiving floor.

“Sorry! Dodgy wiring,” George exclaimed, trying to draw Jean’s attention away from the shelf. The effect, however, was ruined somewhat by him shooting Annie another disapproving look.

“You know I can’t control it!”

“Just... breathe,” George said to Annie, slightly panicked.

It was Jehan who took a few laborious breaths, forcing himself to calm down. He could feel the flush high on his cheeks. Things like this always happened around the house - cups and plates inexplicably smashing, lights flickering at odd intervals - and he should be used to it by now, but it still startled him every time.

Invisible to Jehan, Annie threw her arms up in exasperation. “I’m dead, George! I can’t breathe!”

“Where the fuck’s Mitchell when you need him,” George groaned, knowing that his vampire friend was better at this stuff than him. “Maybe we should move into the living room.”

He grabbed Jehan’s arm, much to the younger man’s surprise, and lead him outside as the kitchen light blew. 

The poet looked so confused that George found room to feel guilty in between the extreme concern that he’d figure out what was going on.

Still, a minute after they left the kitchen, Annie’s storm died away. George felt his panic die down as he stared at his friend’s jumper.

The pink wool had fluffed up, turning his jumper from a general pink thing to a mass of pink fuzz. The static had obviously affected Jehan’s hair, too, because the long, golden strands were repelling each other, flying outwards. Jehan followed George’s gaze, frowning as his eyes the jumper.

“Shit!” he groaned. “This was new!”

George heard Annie snort, but ignored it.

“I am so, so sorry,” he said, going towards the other man and attempting to smooth down the fluffiness with wild hands. Jehan frantically raked his hands through his hair, trying to return it to it’s carefully straightened state.

Of course, it was at that moment Mitchell walked in through the door.

The vampire raised an eyebrow at the pair of them, George’s hands awkwardly resting on Jehan’s chest.

“I don’t even want to know,” he said as the two other men’s faces went red, George jumping away from Jehan. The vampire strode across the room, grabbing his jacket and turning to leave.

“You’re going out again?” George asked, staring at his friend.

“Yeah. I’ve got a date.”

George stared at Mitchell, who was still wearing the shirt of his scrubs over his jeans. “You’re going wearing that?”

“It’s just Josie. Anyway, don’t you have a date with Nina tonight?”

“Why yes, yes I do,” George said, standing up to his full height, subconsciously straightening his shirt. 

“And you’re going wearing that?”

In the time that it took for George to glance down at his shirt and open his mouth in protest, the door had swung shut behind the vampire.

“Told you it was hideous,” Annie called from the kitchen.

“Oh, shut up!”

Jehan started, his hands belatedly coming away from his hair at George’s outburst.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” George repeated senselessly. “I’m just a bit stressed. I really, really like this girl.”

The poet laid a sympathetic hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” he said softly. George smiled, turning to face Jehan.

“You think?”

“I know,” the poet whispered, leaning closer. Their noses were almost touching when there was a rap at the door.

George yelped and jumped away, wiping his nose and shaking his head. Jehan, on the other hand, almost looked disappointed in the lost moment as George pulled the door open to reveal a neatly - and normally - dressed young man.

Any remaining trace of disappointment in Jehan’s face evaporated as his eye’s met Courfeyrac’s.

“What on earth are you wearing?” he asked, eyes dancing with laughter. Jehan’s face dropped.

“Don’t you like it?” he asked, smoothing his hands nervously down the wool. His boyfriend took two steps forwards, affectionately tangled his hand in his boyfriend’s hair and gently drawing their faces together. Jehan didn’t put up a single ounce of resistance, all but falling onto Courfeyrac’s lips.

“I think you look gorgeous,” he whispered as they broke away.

George shot Annie a look that clearly said ‘I told you so’.

“He has to say that!” Annie protested. “He’s dating the guy! He could’ve walked up in drag and he would’ve said it!”

“You just don’t want to admit you’re wrong, as always,” he retorted, grabbing his coat and ignoring the odd look Courfeyrac gave him.

“He does that a lot,” Jehan whispered to his boyfriend, drawing him further inside the room. “You learn to ignore it.”

Courfeyrac chuckled, but didn’t let George’s oddness distract him from the blonde poet in his arms.

“Are you guys going out or staying in?” George asked.

“Staying in,” Jehan replied, as Courf set in on removing the braid the poet had put in that morning.

“Waste of a good plait, if you ask me.” Annie muttered to herself.

George held back a “No-one asked you”, but didn’t skimp on the small smile that suggested that he wasn’t the slightest bit surprised by Jehan’s answer. “Well, then, I guess I’ll see you later,” George said, pulling it shut behind him with a small wave.

As soon as the other man had left, Courf playfully pushed Jehan onto the couch, eliciting a chorus of giggles from the smaller man. There lips seemingly refused to part for more than a second.

Annie groaned and settled for a night of watching the couple.

Hopefully they’d at least put on a decent movie.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this fic started out as a joke between me (SherlockHolmes) and Gabe (written_in_the_dark). But by the time we'd reached the end of it, we had basically created an entire headcannon for a cross over between the Being Human universe and the Les Mis one. So if you'd like to read more of this 'verse, please say so, because we've got lots of ideas for it


End file.
